Moments
by pirate skulls
Summary: Moments in the characters' lives that have shaped them and helped them to become who they are. Pre-FAYZ.
1. Hero

**Hi again! This idea came from a suggestion I do a longer story. Well, TECHNICALLY, this is sort of a lot of short stories, but whatever. It's a start. :D Remember, REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW!**

**This is, of course, the infamous School Bus Sam incident.  
**

Sam sat on the plastic seat, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. At nine thirty am, it was already unbearably hot, even for September in California. The sun beat down from the cloudless sky.

All Sam had on his mind was surfing. It was the perfect day for surfing. The water would be like heaven, clear and cool, and riding the waves would help him forget about the heat. His mom had the day off, so maybe she could come watch him and he'd feel like he made her proud.

Quinn, who was sitting next to him, seemed to be reading his mind. "Hey, brah, maybe we should cut school today. What a waste of perfect surfing time."

Sam smiled. "It's a field trip, brah. A free day. And besides, you can't afford another missed day, dude. Didn't Mr. Baker call your house last time and—"

His next words were drowned by the sound of screeching metal. The bus lurched violently to the side.

Kids looked up. Their eyes were wide, panicked. Kids were talking loudly, screaming, and then one girl in the front cried, "Oh, my God!"

Sam reacted without thinking. The bus was moving wildly now, going way too fast and swerving all over the road. Sam pulled himself through the aisle, grabbing onto the seats and using them to support himself. People were screaming now, some were crying, and it was chaos. Sam forced himself to focus.

He made it to the front. He was exhausted, his muscles worn out, his heart pounding. And then he saw the driver, passed out, one hand clutching at his chest.

"Heart attack," Sam said softly. There was no chance of him being heard over the discord of the bus.

Sam wondered, for a brief instant, why he was being so calm. Why he was able to remain so rational.

And then the bus tilted, nearly rolling over, and Sam came back to the present.

He at first tried lifting the bus driver out of the seat, wanting to be gentle, but speed was more important and he ended up half-pushing-half-pulling the man out. Sam sat quickly, trying to remember what he knew about driving. Not much, but he managed to find the right controls and pedals and, as steadily as he could, steered the bus to the side of the road and parked it.

Sam took a breath. Okay, okay. That was done, the hard part was over. What now?

An ambulance, for the bus driver. Sam looked around, but he saw no cell phone. He ignored the panic the welled inside him. Where else?

The glove compartment: bingo.

Sam dialed 911. He still heard the chaotic screams of kids behind him, and dully he wondered why there were still yelling.

The operator came on, and calmly Sam explained the situation.

Within minutes, police and an ambulance had arrived.

Two hours later, the kids were still standing around the bus. The bus driver had been taken away in an ambulance. It was unknown whether he would be okay or not. T About an hour ago, news crews had arrived. Several reporters had questioned Sam, but he'd modestly and humbly waved it all off.

Sam was uncomfortable with attention. He just wanted the whole thing to be over with. He wanted to fade back into the background. He wanted to go surfing.

"Brah!" Quinn jogged up to Sam. He'd been talking to a reporter for several minutes, and although Sam couldn't hear what he had been saying, the look on the woman's face was enough to tell him.

"Man, what _was_ that? I mean, everyone's screaming and crying, and there you go, all superman, all cool and calm. Dude, you just saved all of us!"

Sam shook his head, wishing Quinn would just shut up. "Man, someone else would have done it. I just got there first."

Quinn laughed. "You need to cut all this modesty crap, Sam. You're on TV. You're totally famous, brah." Quinn thought for a moment, and then said, "You're a hero."

Sam was silent. Quinn was still talking, but everything around Sam was just a blur. That word, hero. That had struck a chord.

Hero. Sam wasn't a hero. He knew that. After all, the word hero conjured up images of Superman, images of comic book heroes and then real life heroes like Martin Luther King and Ghandi.

But he, a thirteen year old surfer, was not a hero.

But it felt nice, being called that. Sam liked it. Maybe he hated attention, maybe he hated being responsible for lives, but he liked the effects that came from it. He liked helping people. He even kind of liked that he was the one who was still calm and cool when disaster was all around him.

His mother had once called him a natural leader. Sam didn't know why, since he couldn't remember the last time he led someone. He was not in charge of his own group, didn't even have many friends.

But now, he could kind of see what she meant, a little.

_Hero_, Sam thought. _I've been called worse._

He didn't mind it. He didn't really mind it at all.


	2. Trouble

Lana's phone vibrated inside her pocket. She fumbled with her purse before dropping it on the bed and then grabbing her cell.

There was a text message from Tony: "r u coming soon?"

Lana sighed. She stared at the bag on her bed for a moment before texting back: "yeah, on my way."

Really, really deep inside, a part of her knew it was wrong. After all, she had gone through DARE. And even though the vodka wasn't for _her_, she couldn't ignore the part of her that knew it still wasn't right.

But honestly, Lana didn't care. She had never been a bad girl, never really gotten into trouble. Or at least, not at school or anything. She mostly just kept her mouth shut. But at home she was not exactly the perfect daughter. She never held her tongue. She never cushioned her thoughts around her parents. She told them exactly what she thought.

Lana was quite proud of her defiance.

And for the most part, she didn't care that Tony was using her. Since she'd started dating him, she'd gone from total nobody to the "in" crowd. She was popular. And so, for her, it all balanced out.

She picked up her purse again, and examined the bottle inside. It didn't really fit. The bag bulged, and the top of the bottle stuck out. But it was either her purse or her backpack, and Lana wanted to look nice when she saw Tony. He might have friends with him, and a backpack would look so tacky.

Lana slipped the strap around her shoulder. Her parents were still at work, so it really didn't matter that the vodka was too big for her bag. She'd done this at least half a dozen times, and no one had seen her before.

She stepped quietly down the stairs, but when she came to the living room, she received a shock: her mom was home, sitting on the sofa, reading. She looked up when Lana came in.

"Hi, hon."

Lana tried to ignore her heart's sudden pounding. She had to remain calm, had to act like nothing was up. "Um, hi. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I got home early. Slow day. How was school?"

"Good. Not much happened. Got a B on the big science test." Lana could feel the blush on her face. She tried to subtly walk sideways, so her purse was out of her mother's view. When that didn't work, she casually slipped the strap from her shoulder and held the bag in front of her.

"That's good news. Maybe that'll raise your grade. Now, aren't you glad I made you stay home and study?"

"Mm hm. Um, I have to go. I'm meeting some friends at the mall." Her hands were slippery with sweat. Just a few more steps, she was almost to the door…

"Alright. Be back before ten, it's a school night."

Lana had made it to the door. She released the bag with one hand to turn the doorknob.

But her other hand's grip was too loose. The bag slipped from her fingers.

And fell.

For a moment, before it hit the floor, there was complete silence. And then, as loud as anything she had ever heard, glass shattered.

Her mother stood. "What was that? Are you alright?"

Lana's breathing was quick, shallow, chaotic. "Oh! Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Um, it's okay, I'll get it—"

But she was too slow. Her mother was already there. And Lana saw her face change as she registered the broken glass, the liquid spreading across the tile.

"Lana Arwen Lazar." Her mother's voice was deadly calm. "Is—was—that _vodka_?"

Lana thought fast. Had to come up with something, some excuse. Something. Right now. "It's not mine." Lana cursed herself. Could she have said anything any more idiotic?

Her mother raised her eyebrows. "Oh really? Then why was it in your purse?"

"I..it's for Tony. It's the first time. He's been…having problems. Like, issues. He's started drinking."

"How do I know that, Lana? How do I believe you're telling the truth? You've been a lot of trouble, lately. I can't trust you anymore."

That had ignited Lana's temper. From then on it had been an hour of yelling and screaming. Neither of them had relented, but Lana managed to convince her mother that the vodka was for Tony.

"Go up to your room. Now!" Her mother said finally, cutting off Lana. "When your father gets home, we'll discuss your punishment. And it's going to be severe." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "You know, young lady, lately you've been more trouble than you're worth."

Lana felt her heart shatter, just like the vodka bottle. She pressed her lips together and spitted a word at her mother that she had never used before. Then she ran up the stairs, not caring about the tears that streamed down her face.

More trouble than she was worth.

_Not yet_, Lana thought. _She hasn't seen anything yet._

She slammed the bedroom door behind her.


	3. Beautiful

**Hi! Another chapter, whoo hoo! This was maybe the hardest one, since the previous two were mentioned in the books and this was not, so I had to come up with this one alone. But I really like it. Enjoy, and REVIEW! :D**

"Hello. My name is Connor. My cat's name is Billy. I like to draw…"

Mary squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back as the first grader rattled on with the personalized speech that his teacher had made him memorize. She looked around the room and saw that most of the other girls were smiling, and even the boys looked like they were enjoying their first grade buddies.

Normally, Mary would have been having a nice time, too. She liked kids. She had always gotten along well with kids, enjoyed being around them. She had that strong maternal instinct, had eagerly helped to take care of her younger brother, John, when she was just five.

But Mary had gotten next to no sleep last night. She had stayed up late, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling and thinking of how fat she was, of how ugly, of how disgusting everyone must think her. So right now her eyelids were drooping, her head was pounding, her stomach was rumbling. She hadn't eaten anything yesterday, and the day before only an apple and a few crackers, which she'd vomited back up. She was feeling a little faint, and the world was hidden behind a veil of haziness.

So Mary was not in the mood for toddlers.

"…and I'm really happy that you're my eighth grade buddy," Connor finished with a smile. He looked up at Mary.

She didn't really want to talk at all, especially since the fluorescent lights were making her headache worse. But he seemed so happy, and Mary just couldn't be mean.

"Hi," she said dully, unable to imitate cheeriness. "My name is Mary."

She rubbed her temples and stared up at the teacher, who started giving instructions about the first and eighth grade buddies' first project together. They were to start scrapbooks that they would work on the rest of the year.

"Now," said the teacher, "I've got a copy of everyone's yearbook picture here. I want you to take your buddy's picture, glue it to a sheet of colored paper, and write three things about them."

Mary felt like screaming. When were they going to be able to leave? Mary had already decided that she couldn't make it the rest of the day, was going to slip away when this was over and go somewhere quiet until the school day was over and she could go home. But she couldn't just get up and walk out of the first grade room.

"Do you want to go first?" Connor asked, his eyes shining with energy, a smile still on his lips.

_Does nothing bring this kid down?_ Mary wondered. Out loud she said, "Um, sure." She grabbed a piece of green paper and glued Connor's picture to it, then grabbed a pen. "Go on and tell me about yourself."

Although Connor had practically poured out his heart in that first speech he gave, he seemed happy to do it again. The first thing Mary wrote was that he had a two year old cat named Billy. Then she wrote that Connor had a younger sister named Lizzy. After that, Mary zoned out, thinking about everything, her life, her body, her diet. The only other thing that she caught was that Connor's parents were divorced, and Mary felt like that was something she shouldn't write. So instead she put "Happy".

"Done," she said flatly. Connor took the piece of paper, and, though it took him a while to read it, he was smiling by the end.

"You think I'm happy?" he said earnestly.

"Um, yeah. Sure. You're one of the happiest people I know." Mary's stomach was rumbling more now, louder. It hurt, too. But this excited Mary. Two days, so far, with nothing. Nothing today, either. And what about tomorrow?

"My turn." Connor took another piece of paper and glued down her picture—Mary avoided looking at it, knowing it would make her hate herself more—and then he got out a pencil.

Mary racked her brain, trying to think clearly. "Uh, I have a little brother named John." She watched as Connor wrote it in large, clumsy letters.

"I like to draw." She waited for him to finish.

"And I…" But before she had said another thing about herself, Connor was filling in the third line.

"What…" When he was done, Mary grabbed the paper. Her eyes skipped to the third line.

In big, uneven letters, Connor had written the word "Beautiful."

Mary felt something inside her warm. She looked down, and her eyes met his. He looked so innocent, so kind. For a moment she was unable to speak. Then, she whispered, "You think I'm beautiful?"

Connor's smile grew even bigger. "You're the beautifulest person I've ever seen." He said it so sincerely, so purely, and Mary had to blink away tears.

She let her eyes roam up to her picture. Before, her brain would have instantly shouted out a bunch of words: Ugly, Stupid, Fat. But now, she noticed the pretty color of her eyes and the shininess of her hair.

"Thank you," she said, so softly that she herself could barely hear.

The teacher clapped her hands and announced that it was time for the eighth grade buddies to leave. Mary stood, and without hesitation Connor hugged her. Mary froze, having spent the last few months shying away from human touch, but slowly she loosened and gently hugged Connor back.

"I'll see you next week, okay?" she said, as happily as she could.

Connor nodded. "See you then!"

As Mary stepped through the doorway, she could not keep a smile from her face.

_Beautiful_, she thought. _He really things I'm beautiful._

She walked to her locker, shucked off her loose, baggy sweatshirt, and stuffed it inside, proudly straightening the T-shirt underneath.


	4. Bad

**AN: Yes, I'm alive! xD I know I haven't updated in forever...I guess I've had writers block, but that's all over with now, hopefully. Enjoy!**

"You lied to me!"

The woman's voice rang out, echoing throughout the house. Diana could hear it all the way up here. All the way on the top floor, snuggled into a corner that fit her small frame perfectly. It was a nice listening spot; comfortable, out of sight.

It had been like this yesterday, too; yesterday, when Diana had told her mom about the other woman in her father's bed. She'd quickly shooed Diana away, her face white, and just minutes later Diana could hear the fight begin.

The fight that she had deliberately caused.

It wasn't her fault, her ten-year-old mind reasoned. Of course not. It was father's fault. She'd just been telling the truth. And hadn't her father always told her to do that?

Something resembling a smirk tugged at her lips. That would show him not to get her what she'd wanted. She always got what she wanted.

"I know! I didn't...it got out of hand! I was going to tell you!" This voice was even louder, and deeper. His tone was sharp, like he was trying to shove the words at her mother, stab her with them.

Diana could see the scene in her head; her mother, who had packed her bags and was trying to leave. Her father, trying desperately to stop her.

Something puller at her mind; it was worry. She was scared of being alone in the house with her dad after her mother had left, scared of how he might punish her. But she ignored the pang of fear; that would come later. It wouldn't help to think about it now.

"Please! Just...please, stay!" The deep voice again. It was softer this time, gentler, but still rough. Still the voice that Diana had never trusted, the voice that had never done anything for her. The voice that had denied her, always.

She slowly uncurled herself from the wall, deciding that she wanted to see this for herself. With the softest of steps, she made her way down the hall. She came to the balcony; it allowed her a perfect view of the scene below. She kneeled, her face peeking out from between the poles of the railing.

"No! You can go live with her, for all I care! Do what you want, but I'm done." The woman picked up her suitcases, and turned away from the man who's gaze was piercing into her. Her short, dark hair was still messy, as though she hadn't even taken the time to brush it. "I'll come back for the rest of my things later."

That was when it happened. Her mother took a step down the staircase. From Diana's angle, the entire thing was easy to see. How her mom had been looking at her father, not the steps. The way that her heel had slipped off of the edge of the step. The way that her hands, already grasping the suitcase handles, were unable to grab at anything that would stop her fall. The way that her father reached out to catch her, his fingertips brushing her arm, almost, almost, but too late.

As if in slow motion, she tripped. She cartwheeled, and almost seemed to fly through the air for what seemed like forever, until, with a series of _thuds_, finally coming to a stop at the bottom.

The air was still. Diana stared at her mother's body, broken on the marble. Her eyes were wide, her breathing quick. Before she could even open her mouth to scream, her father was on his cell phone, dialing 911.

As he hung up, his eyes roamed upwards, towards her. They seemed to pierce her, blaming her.

She let out the scream that she'd been holding in.

Within minutes, she could hear the sirens. The windows were lit with flashing lights, and her father was talking to a young looking officer, gesturing wildly. Diana was still peeking through the railing, unsure if the officer could even see her.

"I...she just slipped...I don't know how..." Her father shook his head, seemingly in shock. The officer nodded, writing it all down.

Two things flashed through Diana's mind at once. There was her mother, being carried out on a stretcher, eyes closed, barely breathing. And then there were the thoughts of tomorrow; she remembered his eyes, blaming her, promising her she'd pay for this. Her fear from before had now increased tenfold, restricting her breathing, blurring her thoughts.

And the guilt. That was there too.

_It's not your fault. You're a kid. It's your dad. He did this. He made all this happen._ Ideas assaulted her, possibilities swarmed her, anything to get her out of this. Anything to make all of this go away.

She closed her eyes, and picked one.

"He pushed her!" Her voice came from nowhere, reaching down below. Her father stopped talking, turning to stare at her. The officer looked up, surprised.

"What was that?" he said, obviously treating her as a child, a small child who had no idea what she was talking about.

That fueled Diana even more. "They were fighting. She was going to leave. So he pushed her." The lie eased it's way out of her lips cooly, easily. Diana almost believed it herself.

She saw suspicion in the policeman's eyes; he turned to look at her father. "Is that true, sir?"

"No!" He shook his head rigorously. "Of course not. I mean yes, we were fighting, but she just tripped-"

"He pushed her!" Diana screamed, desperate to be believed. She tried her best to look scared, innocent, honest. She let the tears she'd been holding back come to her eyes. "He pushed her, he hurt her!" She buried her head in her arms, hoping that it'd work.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me," the officer said. Diana raised her head slightly, just enough to see him lock handcuffs on her father's wrists.

"I didn't do it! She fell! I swear, I would never..." He turned, to look at Diana. But this look was different; it wasn't frightening so much as it was accusing. Her fault, all of it...

She shook her head. He'd started this. And she'd won. Nothing else mattered. She ran down the stairs, pressing her face against the window to watch as her father was forced into the car.

She smirked, and waved to him. Diana couldn't tell if he'd seen her, but she didn't care.

_You're a bad girl_, something inside her said. _You're bad._

She considered this for a moment, then shrugged.

Maybe she was bad. Maybe she was a bad girl. But if that was what you had to be, then...

...well, then that was exactly what Diana would become.


End file.
